Sissy finally has a bed on the psych ward, 72 hour minimum. Don't know yet what her pdoc and therapists will say - they may suggest RTC again.
She had a bag packed and hidden. I found it in my random bed check for objects she might hurt herself with. And there it was, packed and hidden under the blankets she tossed over it claiming "I made my bed mom!" The bag was packed like she was headed somewhere. I called her on it, asked if she was intending on running away and she went to full rage escalation in 3 seconds flat. She became threatening to herself, The Dad and her siblings. I grabbed the phone and dialed 911 and she left in an ambulance.
I made my way down to the children's medical center in one piece and then cussed out loud as I put the van in park in the parking garage because it dawned on me that I made it all the way to the children's parking deck without even thinking. Read: I can easily find my way, as in, WTF?!?! One of my many talents as a parent is I can find my way to the parking deck of the children's medical center with my eyes closed?!?! Yeah. There's something I wanted on my parenting resume. "NOT COOL!" i shouted at God. "SO NOT COOL!"
All the crazies were out so it took from 5:30 until 10:30 before the third year resident took our information and then it took until 12:00 for the attending fellow to agree with the resident's findings that Sissy needed to be admitted. And then it took until 1 am for the orderly to escort her up to the ninth floor in the only wheel chair he could find - the bariatric chair.
When the doctor said to Sissy, "Is it OK with you that you stay for a few days?" She said without flinching and with a lilt as she swung her legs off the end of the exam table, "Well, as long as I'm home for Christmas. I had to miss Christmas and my birthday last year and I don't want to do that again. They didn't give me any presents blah blah blah ..."
He left the room and Sissy hopped down and said, "well mom, you got what you wanted, I'll be out of your hair for a few days and you won't have to listen to me scream at least for those few days while I'm here."
And I pretended that wasn't an arrow straight through my heart and said without flinching, "Sissy, I'm really hoping you'll take this time to learn how NOT to scream so when you come home, you won't start doing it again."
And then i decided to change the subject to play it safe. I said, "Sissy, you say you don't want to hurt yourself. So that means you expect to be a grown up some day, right?" She agreed. "Ok, let's play a game. Close your eyes. Make a picture in your mind of what you look like when you're a grown up." Then I proceeded to ask her questions about her appearance, her clothing, her jewelry and hair, her job, her activities, her friends, etc.
This is the summation of what she told me while we waited for the orderly and this is what has me wrecked, just flat out totalled. These are her words, imagery, all of it. None of this is my embellishment.
Sissy imagines she'll be a grown up at 18. She will have pencil cut, skin tight pants in blue. She will have a white sleeveless top, big breasts, a tiny waist and round hips. She will wear high heeled shoes, crystal jewelry, carry a hot pink fake leopard skin purse and be a dyed blond. She will hang out with all the boys and maybe go out to restaurants with all of them so she can decide which one she wants. She will have friends and they will tell her she is nice and that she doesn't scream. They will know that she is nice even on the inside. She will be an artist and color pictures for a job.
When I asked her if she intended to wear her street clothes to work she gruffly replied that she would wear blue jeans if they let her or just a work uniform.
By Sissy's description, she intends to be a whore. But I didn't point that out to her. What would be the sense? She would never see it that way. And there's the rub. Because she can't call a spade a spade or see truth for what it is, she will not be capable of wrapping her brain around the truth that she is the product of her own design. No matter what I do, no matter how much I invest, no matter how hard I try to help her see the value of changing, she will be a user, an abuser, she'll be promiscuous and get pregnant. There is no other reality.
And even as they were escorting her to the psych ward and she was happy as a clam, giddy and talking up a storm like it was nothing at all to be admitted in a locked ward of the ninth floor of a hospital, she still refused to admit that she packed a bag with the intent of ... leaving. whether running away or she purposely planned to act out significantly enough to land her butt in the hospital, either way, she chose it and refused to admit the truth. 
Yes, I have lost my Hope, both literally and figuratively. And now that I've eaten my grits and stopped crying about the reality that it doesn't matter what I do, Sissy's future reality is bleak, I will go to bed.
UGH! SERIOUSLY!? The kid friggin' got more gifts than AB and WG because we bought her gifts and then the RTC blitzkrieged the kids with a bajillion gifts from various local charities!
I gave her the out while we waited for hours. I told her straight, "Sissy, either you packed that bag because you were out of your mind and had no clue what you were doing or the voices in your head told you to, OR you intended to run away. If you give me some other explanation, I will back down. But if you can not tell me truthfully why that bag was packed, i WILL tell the doctor that you are planning to run away or that you've lost your mind." And Sissy's hard and fast response was "I don't know why" and my hard and fast reply was, "then you've made your choice already. Because out of your mind or running away, both have bought you a bed upstairs." Bottom line? She WANTED to be in the hospital.